


Bruises for Bedtime

by AskAStupidQuestion



Series: The Baltimore Institute [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - High School, Bullying, Doctor Hannibal Lecter, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Protective Hannibal Lecter, Protectiveness, So it's a lil' creepy but not that creepy I swear, Will is 18
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 20:31:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14197164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AskAStupidQuestion/pseuds/AskAStupidQuestion
Summary: After getting changed for PE the other boys notice the bruising on Will’s back and he’s sent to the school doctor, who just happens to be Hannibal.Warning: implied child abuse and description of injuries.





	Bruises for Bedtime

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe a little sad but the second chapter is where all the hurt/comfort comes in. I probably won't dive too deeply past just the beginnings of a romantic relationship with Will and Hannibal because I don't really think comforting one another about being abused is something you should build a sexual relationship on, at least not in this fic!
> 
> I made some changes to Jack's appearance because whilst he's tall I made him slightly more athletic to be a football coach. Also it's never specified whether they're playing American or British football so I leave that up to you!
> 
> Enjoy!

"Oi! Aren’t you supposed to be in the changing rooms?” The coach looks down at Will. He’s 6 foot at least and looks about double the width of him. His deep voice matches the rest of him, beer gut showing through just enough to not be called muscular but you wouldn’t dare say it to his face.

“Um, yes?”

“Then what are you doing loitering out here? I want you out on the pitch in 3 minutes and if you’re not there before the whistle blows there will be consequences, understand?”

He nods quickly and hurries into the changing room. He has to steel himself before he enters, not everyone meant ‘consequences’ the way his father did. It was going to be okay. Wasn’t it?

He sees the bob of heads when the other boys look up from their conversations, some more subtle than others. Probably gossiping about the latest game or the hottest girl or the next freshman to bully. He’s managed to avoid changing with them for a whole semester now, mostly by staying behind in English lit beforehand and changing after them but recently he’s had to resort to the bathrooms a couple of times- even an empty classroom once. Will remembers the sweat beading on his forehead in the dark room, sticking to his shirt as he tried to undress. He thought he had heard footsteps outside but he was in the corner of the room almost parallel to the door, out of sight from the corridor. Still, it was terrifying, and the scramble to get his jeans down and his gym shorts on was enough to make him twice as jittery. By the time he got to the pitch they were already ten minutes in and Coach Crawford had made him run an extra mile before letting him go.

The rest of them must know he gets changed somewhere, but no one’s particularly bothered to ask until one of the sports captains gets a little too cocky.

“Where’ve you been, Graham?” Comes a pointed question from across the room where Matthew Brown folds his arms.

“Busy.” He takes his stuff to the other side of the room, effectively hiding behind the screen of clothes already dumped on the hooks and between the lockers already. He crinkles his nose at the oily stench coming off them. It’s not a great advertisement for a return visit.

“Can’t think how busy you must be coming from a _loner_.” Another one calls out. Will lets it wash over him like calm background noise. It’s just a game, he reminds himself. Just a game.

“Come on guys, knock it off. I’m not gonna be running extra laps today because of you!” The lackeys make their move outside to the pitch, letting Will breathe again. He changes into his shorts; the most embarrassing part is over already. It’s just cold enough in here so the hairs on his arms stand on end like soldiers, skin prickling.

He has his gym shirt ready, out of the bag and the right way around, enough to slip over his head and be done with it all. Not daring to look around the corner he whips off his t-shirt, trying not to catch any of his injuries, and already has his arms in his gym shirt when he sees Brown leaning against the wall.

“Got something you wanna tell us Graham?” He enquires, ever the gentleman. “Didn’t think you were one for a boxing club.” He smiles with his teeth, raking his eyes over Will’s back even though the bruises are covered now.

“Get lost Brown, we’re going to be late.” He says, bundling his clothes into the scrappy plastic bag and shoves it forcefully in his locker.

“Aww, all embarrassed. How sweet. Wouldn’t like to think of my little Will all in pain now.” He coos. “What happened Willie, tripped? Maybe some meanie from the next block over took a swing at you. Hey- I’m talking to you!”

Will’s already out the room and running for the pitch before Brown even spits out the last sentence. He’ll already be sweaty by the time he’s got there, but it’ll be worth it.

 

He arrives as Crawford is announcing the football teams and its sunny enough to have them play shirts versus skins to save the bother with team colours.

“Brown, shirts. Price, skins.  Zeller, shirts. Graham, skins.” He continues down the class list, picking his victims randomly but the blood in Will’s ears is too loud to hear the words he says next. He can’t- he has to change teams. There’s no way he can play like that- all on display. It’s not, not possible. He can’t even think of doing it. Of humiliating himself like that.

The whistle blows and the rest of them assume their positions on the pitch but Will lingers back.

“Graham? I thought I said you were playing skins?”

“I, I can’t Sir.”

He sighs deeply. “You can and you will, Graham, I’ve had enough of your antics today. Eighteen is far too old to be arguing like this with your coach. Get a move on!”

“Come on Willie, it’ll be fun!” called Brown, moving inwards, whilst the other boys circle behind like sharks. “Let’s get started!”

The air is punched out of Will’s lungs when he hits the ground, Brown and another boy tackling him to the brown grass. They sit on top of him, grabbing at his shirt. Will rolls, kicking away at them, trying to buck them off but instead they can grasp the back of his shirt and tear it over his head. His spine aches with the weight of them, legs pinned to the ground. He can feel where his skin tears in places its already thinned. There’s a stinging bite that can only mean the welts on his back have started bleeding again.

“Oi!” The coach grabs at Brown’s shoulder, swinging him off, whistle still blowing loud enough to hurt. “Fighting will not be tolerated, save it for the game.” By the time the other boy is pulled off Will can breathe again, stumbling to his feet.

He feels an abstract horror when he senses the summer breeze on his bare skin. His shirt lies metres away from him, now green and brown with mud.

When he looks up again all the boys are staring. Their eyes bulge in their sockets as they look him up and down, even Coach Crawford stops in his tracks. The pitch is filled with silence as Will stares blankly back. His shoulders hunch, trying to hide, but it’s no use when they’ve already seen it. Scars line his stomach in random lines. There’s no pattern, only a blur of red on pale skin like a disturbing modern art piece in a particularly grotesque exhibition.

Whispers build in the silence. “Shit, Graham.”

He turns, ripping his shirt from the floor and stuffing it over his head again but not before the intake of breath at the sight of his back. It’s a whole lot worse than his stomach and the fresh purpling on his knee from the tackle look nothing compared to this.

 

“Graham, you’re excused to go to the doctor’s office, I assume I won’t need to send anybody with you to make sure you do so. The rest of you, pair up!” The coach snaps, resuming some sense of normalcy.

He ducks his head in recognition, grateful for the dismissal, and runs back to the main school as fast as he can. Will just hopes the doctor won’t ask too many questions.

 


End file.
